Time is spinning. Faster than truth. Faster than publishing. Faster than we can think.

Half the workforce is going gig—but writers? We were the prototype.

Now AI wants in, the rules are changing, and the question isn’t can you write…

It’s can you survive the revolution?

Create. Deliver. Disappear?

Time keeps spinning.

Lately? It feels like it’s whirling faster than any of us can keep up with.

I saw an article last week—data pulled from Statista and reported by Fast Company—that said by 2027, 86.5 million people in the United States will be freelancing, That’s over half the workforce.

Half.

Half of American workers won’t have a steady paycheck or dedicated pension. Half will be finishing one job while waiting and watching for the next.

Half will be part of what they call the “gig economy” . But as I look around. The gig isn’t just coming. It’s here.

As I chat with friends, I think we can commiserate. We are the original gig workers.

We write a thing—out of nothing but imagination, research, and discipline—and then we send it out into the world. Sometimes directly to readers. Sometimes to agents who sell it to publishers.

No matter the distribution, at the core, it’s the same model:

Create. Deliver. Hope it sells. Do it again.

Sound familiar?

Nonetheless, something feels different right now.

Time itself feels different.

It’s March 31st, and I swear January was just yesterday.

I was hawking Fire Sword and Sea- and folks don’t forget about it. I need your bookclubs to pick it up and discuss. We still need revolution.

The air of oppression is the only thing that’s not speeding up. Anxiety has us constantly scrolling, looking for endless updates, the noise—wars, prices rising and Druski sketches. People are stockpiling water. And everyone’s trying to figure out is it Ai or truth? Where do we get news from. Substack? YouTube? TikTok? If it’s IG how do you fit all in 60-second posts?

Everything is whirling, spinning faster.

And layered on top of that acceleration is AI.

What was supposed to be a technological revolution.

With Hachette pulling the novel Shy Girl from publication because of AI editing…

and New York Times parting ways with a Gig Book Reviewer —who used AI to help write a review that inadvertently borrowed elements of a Guardian review of “Watching Over Her” by Jean-Baptiste Andrea.

The AI revolution is feeling a little French, as in the French Revolution. It’s chaos with forces pushing to AI – I’m looking at you Grammarly and Microsoft Copilot, And other forces trying to shame you for em dash usage— it’s chaos.

Authors, like many other Gig workers are frightened.

Let’s just say it plainly.

Many of us have had our work scraped, borrowed, absorbed into systems we never consented to. And while companies like Anthropic have at least begun conversations around accountability and repair, the larger landscape still feels unsettled.

Unclear.

And very unstable.

But—life keeps moving.

So here we are, at the end of the first quarter, and I have to ask you—and myself:

Have you accomplished what you thought you would this year?

I’m sitting here thinking about everything that’s happened already with Fire Sword and Sea, how many of you made sure it wasn’t drowned out. They’re are more events happening. April 11th, Come to Conyers Book Festival. April 12th, meet Michigan at the Detroit Public Library. All my friends and GM buddies come on out.

You will never know how good it feels when readers show up.

There is joy in that.

Real joy.

And I’m grateful.

Truly.

But I would be lying if I said there wasn’t also fear, that the gig I love keeps evolving.

We are living in a time where storytelling itself feels contested.

There is pressure on what stories get told.

Pressure on whose histories are preserved.

Pressure on whose voices are amplified—or silenced.

And publishing, like every other industry, is trying to find its footing in shifting political, cultural, and economic ground.

Which means writers—especially emerging writers—are asking:

Is there space for me?

Will my story be welcomed?

Or will it be turned away before it ever has a chance to live?

I think about the next generation a lot.

Are they being nourished?

Are they being encouraged?

Or are they being pushed out by chaos, by confusion, and systems that don’t yet know how to hold onto them?

These stories don’t just disappear.

They get lost. And when they get lost, we lose pieces of ourselves.

So what does this all mean?

We’re back to where we started.

With the gig. And a marketplace that’s getting more crowded as we all become gig workers.

Writing has always been uncertain.

Always.

There has never been a guarantee that the next book sells. That the next contract comes. Or that markets will hold.

This isn’t new.

It’s intensified.

So what happens if the book gig dries up?

That’s a real fear I’ve been sitting with.

Luckily, I’ve done indie publishing and tech startups. I know what it means to build something from nothing. To pivot.

I’m working on my next book with my eyes on other lanes—screenwriting, content creation, serialized storytelling, digital platforms—those are new gigs that haven’t been fully explored.

But all this writing, book adjacent gigs require the same things:

Adaptability.

Speed.

Clarity.

And the AI that was supposed to save time, is out there with a wrecking ball.

All the noise is exhausting.

And I just want to write.

To sit with a story. To shape it. To honor it.

Not chase algorithms or decode platforms or constantly reposition myself in the marketplace.

To keep calm and carry on, I:

Find time for devotion.

Find time to learn something new.

Research questions and time periods and people that touch my heart.

I’m not so good at limiting scrolling.

But when I do I engage, I find trusted content creators.

And friends, I’m not bereft. Each day, something good always happens.

A reader posts.

A message comes through.

Someone is smiling, holding one of my books—or a book by one of my peers—talking about how it made them feel seen, understood, entertained, transformed.

And in that moment, I am the luckiest gig worker in the world.

This week’s book list is all about the hustle and the AI times.

Gigged – Sarah Kessler – A clear look at what gig work actually means—freedom vs. instability.

Sister Outsider – Audre Lorde – Why voice, truth, and storytelling are always political.

One and Done by Frederick Smith – One prime target for gig work, a consultant, and a university administrator try to find that forever thing, but might end up one and done.

And some Preorders:

Writer in Residence by Rhonda McKnight – A blocked writer retreats to the Lowcountry to reclaim her voice—and rewrite her future.

A Deal at Dawn coming June 31, 2026 – The Duke of Torrance and Lady Hampton have to find new spouses, and definitely not each other, not again.

Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea from Baldwin Books or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are in the trenches with me.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.

Enjoying these essays? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.” It’s time to getting ready to write the next book, I’d love to take you behind the scenes and maybe you’ll write one too. Keep listening.

Thank you for listening. I want you to come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe

Have you ever not known how empty you were—until a weekend of feasting showed you just how hungry you really are?

That was me, this weekend. I spent it in the company of 1,500 readers and fellow authors at the Black Romance Book Fest, and I left with my heart and spirit overflowing. Now, you might say, “Vanessa, I get your newsletter. I follow you on Instagram and Threads. I see the pictures. You go to a lot of events.” And yes, that’s true. I do. I’m the type who soaks everything in—the people, the place, the energy, the reason we gather.

But this? This was different.

When you’re marginalized, stepping into spaces where you’re one of only a handful can be daunting. I still remember sitting in a ballroom at an RWA conference, surrounded by people who wouldn’t meet my gaze—blue eyes turning away, avoiding eye contact as though acknowledgment might cost them something. In those moments, I’ve wished for a sign that read: Conversation is free. I don’t bite.

And then back in my hotel room, I’d recite poet Gwendolyn Brooks’s work, To Black Women. She begins with:

“Sisters,where there is cold silenceno hallelujahs, no hurrahs at all, no handshakes,no neon red or blue, no smiling faces prevail.”

It’s as if Gwendolyn herself had walked the conference floors with me. You learn to prepare yourself, to build armor against the lack of hurrahs, the absence of handshakes. You remind yourself that rejection isn’t always personal—people read what they relate to. Unless they choose to diversify, most gravitate toward characters who look like them or have shared lived experience. Unless, of course, if we’re talking werewolves or vampires—those stories get an all-access pass, while Black, brown, or queer stories are often left outside the gates.

And then there was this weekend.

At Black Romance Book Fest, no one turned away. People smiled. They hugged. They talked to everyone.

You heard Nice boots, cute T-shirt, Girl!!! those nails, and cool—a pirate costume, etc.

The halls were crowded with people, laughter, and cheer. Hallelujahs rang out online buddies met in real life. Hurrahs echoed down halls. It was a beautiful thing—to feel welcomed and seen in a space filled with so many faces who wanted to get you. There was a collective joy, an ease in being present, that’s hard to put into words, but you feel it. It vibrates across your skin and sinks into your soul.

The breadth of representation moved me. Every genre and subgenre had a seat at the table—fantasy, paranormal, historical, contemporary, romantic suspense. I remember chatting with a fantasy author who was stunned, and delighted, to see how many Black readers were there for fantasy and speculative fiction. No genre was out of bounds. Everything—every moment—felt welcoming and grounded in sisterhood and solidarity.

Of course, no event with 1,500 people and limited elevators can escape a little drama. But that’s every conference. I’ve experienced worse. I remember once, dressed in full Regency garb for a costume party, being stopped at the door because someone assumed—that I was in the wrong place. Apparently, I didn’t look like the kind of person who belonged in a Regency gown. That’s the kind of foolishness many of us with Black faces in literary spaces are familiar with. And unfortunately, it still happens, it just looks different—lack of support, lack of proper editing and marketing. Or simply turning the other way at a book signing. But that’s why I pour so deeply into my people, if you’ve made it this far, you are my people, but I especially want to bless the Black sisters who’ve supported me across every step of my career.

They honor that I write something different. They honor everyone who does. They uplift the wide spectrum of Black storytelling—because at the core of it all is love: love of beauty, love of self, love of each other. And that love creates room for fantasy, horror, sci-fi, thrillers, historicals—genres long denied to us but reclaimed through our voices, our pens, and our varying visions.

Gwendolyn Brooks ends her poem with these lines of quiet hope:

“But there remain large countries in your eyes.Shrewd sun.The civil balance.The listening secrets.And you create and train your flowers still.”

This weekend helped me remember my own gardens. That I can conquer large territories or conferences. Black Romance Book Fest refreshed my soul. It restored my balance. It reminded me that I’m still called to create and train my flowers. That even in the face of rejection or erasure, there are places for my stories—and yours.

To my fellow authors: you’re not crazy. Your readers are out there. They are waiting, hungry for what only you can bring. And they’ll be (mostly) patient while you take the time you need to grow and train your flowers.

Because they believe in the bloom that’s coming. And so do I.

Books to help us to grow and train our minds are:

To Black Women by Gwendolyn Brooks, it can be found in the public domain, but

A Street in Bronzeville by Gwendolyn Brooks is available. It’s her debut collection. It that features poems of everyday life with dignity, tenderness, and piercing realism.

For Read Caribbean Month I recommend,

How to Say Babylon by Safiya SinclairA searing memoir about a Rastafarian girl finding her voice against a backdrop of patriarchy.

And lastly, I am asking for your support for Fire Sword and Sea—spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about female pirates in the 1600s. This sweeping saga releases January 13, 2026.

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting Joseph-Beth Booksellers through their website and Bookshop.org

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.

If you believe like me that stories matter—please like, share, and hit subscribe to Write of Passage.

Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe

Originally posted 2025-06-03 13:10:00.

journal they could find.

Vanessa, that sounds odd.

Hear me out.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for yourself is something small that will nurture your soul.

Give yourself something beautiful to focus on. In a world that feels chaotic, overwhelming, even war-torn—surviving is learning how to vibe.

And you vibe by writing or singing or thinking or journaling.

Let me have a few minutes. Let’s vibe together.

We are on the verge of something—call it world war three, call it chaos, call it the moment before everything shifts.

In the middle of it all—TSA lines wrap around terminals, travel anxiety hums the background, people are forced to work with no pay. I could go on about how every headline is filled with hostilities. They escalate hourly.

I’ve made the practical decision to vibe, to be above the moment rather than in it.

Vanessa, what does that mean?

I’m stocking up on the essentials:

Water.

Toiletries.

And goodwill.

Since the world feels unstable, the least I can do is stabilize my corner of it.

But how do you reset when gas prices feel like they’re climbing without end? When groceries—something as basic as beef—begins being priced like silver?

When the weather can’t decide what season it belongs to, and you’re running both the heat and the air conditioning in the same week? You give up. Nothing, absolutely nothing is under our control.

I’m not telling you anything new. But I am sharing with you my survival rules 101:

First, protect your peace. The crazy train’s not stopping. There’s no switch we can flip to slow things down. It has to run it’s course and teach hard, painful lessons.

And it’s so difficult when the people we love—especially those in uniform—will be called into harm’s way.

So what do we do?

This weekend, I found part of the answer.

I joined the Tanya Time Book Club and met a room filled with readers and vibed with food, fashion, friendships and books.

These readers were engaged, joyful, present.

Beautiful women. Supportive, diligent men.

These were people who chose, intentionally, to gather.

This was nourishment, to be with bookish people.

I saw laughter, felt the collective breath release and reveled in this moment: we are safe. We are together.

The vibe struck me:

We need this. All of us.

I’m tired of watching chaos. Tired of those who thrive on fear winning. I’m deeply disappointed in those who profit from division.

But as I said, there’s no stopping the crazy train. Our leadership has lied and failed us.

So yes—we have to buckle up.

Crazy has the keys and we’re in the back of station wagon.

Back to those practical steps:

Stay hydrated.

Stock up—little by little on essentials:

Water. Staples. Medicines. These things disappear first when systems get strained.

And then—just as importantly—feed your mind.

Escape, escape into a book.

Because stories are more than entertainment.

They are a refuge. They are resistance. They are hope.

If you crave manageable chaos with a side of humor—let me offer you A Deal at Dawn, releasing June 30, 2026.

This is Katherine Wilcox, Lady Hampton’s story.

This stubborn woman has spent her life believing that secrecy equals safety.

It’s not. It’s betrayal.

This story is packed with a secret baby, hurt-comfort, and herbs.

And my dear girl is ready to walk over hot coals to make things right.

And opposite her—Jahleel Charles, the Duke of Torrance.

The master chess player is a man shaped by legacy—a Black Russian princess for a mother, an English duke for a father—and now faces a crisis that could take everything from him.

His health.

His independence.

His future. His one chance to be a father.

So the question becomes:

What does forgiveness look like when trust has been shattered?

What does redemption cost?

And what happens when the child—once hidden—has grown old enough to understand that she’s been lied to all her life?

Will Katherine make amends?

Or will she give up? Or will time run out?

Yes, we need more escape. I still do suggest to picking up Fire, Sword, and Sea. These pirates fight back. We can learn something.

So let me leave you with this.

Please take time to care for yourself.

If you need to disconnect from the noise—do it.

If the news feels like too much—step away.

Find voices you trust. Platforms that inform without overwhelming.

Guard your home front.

Prepare wisely.

And don’t underestimate the power of small joys.

Watch something that makes you laugh.

Call someone who reminds you who you are.

Go hang with a book club.

And above everything, read.

Let a story carry you somewhere safe and full of laughs even if it’s just for a while.

And be prayerful.

Pray for leadership with backbone.

Pray for those called into service.

Pray for wisdom and mercy and endurance.

Pray for creators.

Creators keep creating.

We need you.

We need the stories written.

Art painted.

Words spoken, rhymed, sung, or acted.

In times like these, art is not a luxury.

It’s vibe to survival.

This week’s book list includes:

Legendborn by Tracy Deonn

Secret societies, grief, legacy, power. Feels like stepping into a world where truth fights back.

The Neighbor Favor by Kristina Forest

Soft, warm, affirming Black love story. A gentle reset kind of read.

And a little nonfiction vibe:

Rest Is Resistance by Tricia Hersey

Think of rest as rebellion.

Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea or preorder A Deal at Dawn from Baldwin Books or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.

Please keep spreading the word. Fire Sword and Sea is the vicarious adventure you didn’t know you needed and a guide to resistance, not exactly rest.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.

Enjoying these essays? Go ahead and like this episode, share, and subscribe to Write of Passage so you never miss a moment.” It’s time to getting ready to write the next book, I’d love to take you behind the scenes and maybe you’ll write one too. Keep listening.

Thank you for listening. I want you to come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

Conyers, GA and Detroit, Michigan – Both Cities are on my April tour schedule. If you live near, I want to see you. Check my website for updates.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe

n 2020, America and the world were spiraling. COVID. COVID shutdowns, high COVID deaths, and the divisive uproar over wearing masks frayed nerves and divided communities. Then, in the middle of the chaos, we witnessed the killing of a man.

George Floyd, a man who’d run afoul of the law in the past, was approached by police under the false suspicion of using a counterfeit $20 bill.

At 8:20 p.m. on May 25, 2020, outside Cup Foods in Minneapolis, Officers Tou Thao, J. Alexander Kueng, and Thomas Lane encountered George. Kueng and Lane approached first, with blue lights twirling—maybe even a siren. George was visibly distressed and repeatedly said, “Please don’t shoot me,” referencing past traumatic experiences with the police.

At 8:21, officers attempted to place him in a squad car. George, unwisely, resisted, expressing intense anxiety and claustrophobia. “I’m not a bad guy… I’m scared, man,” he said.

By 8:25, Officer Derek Chauvin arrived. George was dragged out of the squad car and forced to the ground. Chauvin then placed his knee on George’s neck.

George was already handcuffed. Already on the ground. Already submissive. But Chauvin kept his knee there, applying his full weight to George’s neck.

Kneeling is supposed to be an act of humility—of reverence, of supplication, a gesture one might use to beg God for mercy.

But Chauvin wasn’t begging God. No, it was George who begged for his life. He cried out in search of humanity—for his humanity. He said more than 20 times: “I can’t breathe.”

Still, Chauvin didn’t move. George then cried out for his mother: “Mama, I’m about to die.”

A grown man, pleading for a breath, for his mother. Yet Chauvin kept kneeling, confident that no one would care about this Black man. To some, a man with a record deserves no second chance. So Chauvin kept kneeling, submitting not to justice but to cruelty—for 9 minutes and 29 seconds—until George Floyd died.

This moment shattered the stillness of a world already shaken. For a brief period, it seemed like nearly everyone agreed: This was wrong. This was murder.

I vividly remember the black squares on Instagram. The companies racing to fire employees who lied on peaceful protestors or weaponized stereotypes to suggest somehow George deserved this.

Companies finally acknowledged what many of us had known for years: that they had a diversity and inclusion problem. They made promises.

Penguin Random House pledged to increase diverse representation in its workforce and publish more books by Black authors and authors of color.

HarperCollins promised to amplify underrepresented voices in acquisitions, create fellowships, and increase donations to racial justice causes.

Simon & Schuster announced a new imprint for social justice and pledged to acquire more BIPOC authors. They donated to We Need Diverse Books and Black Lives Matter.

Macmillan acknowledged the lack of representation in its publishing and staff. They committed to more inclusive hiring, employee training, and outreach to BIPOC writers.

Hachette created a Diversity & Inclusion Council and mentorship programs for BIPOC employees. They donated to civil rights organizations and promised to publish more Black and Brown voices.

It wasn’t just publishing jumping to be counted in the righteous number. Target, Microsoft, Apple—major corporations pledged millions to diversity initiatives and underserved communities.

But here we are, just five years later.

Reports from The Washington Post, Reuters, and business analysts show a corporate backslide. Hachette has made notable progress in BIPOC hiring and acquisitions. But others—Penguin Random House, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, and Macmillan—have not provided updated public reports on their commitments. There’s a lack of transparency.

And when BIPOC authors speak up about their experiences with these opaque publishers—about the lack of marketing, the minimal support at launch, the inadequate investments in advertisements—it becomes clear that many of those 2020 commitments were performative. Empty, breathless gestures.

The biggest offender? We all know—Target. After loudly promoting their DEI programs, they rolled them back—loudly and publicly. And sales have significantly declined. I doubt they’ll ever fully regain the trust of the loyal customers they betrayed.

There’s been talk that Target’s retreat has caused some Black authors to miss major bestseller lists. That’s not the full story. The truth is: momentum makes the difference. Local bookstore buys matter count just as much—often more.

Don’t get me wrong—I love walking into a big store and seeing my book face-out on the shelf. I’m deeply grateful to every bookseller, clerk, and sales rep who’s done that for any of my titles.

But let’s be honest: many Black and BIPOC authors lack consistent support from publishers. A publisher can create magic. They can generate momentum—or they can smother it. And I’ve wondered, more than once, if some of these acquisitions with no follow-through are just another version of the black Instagram squares. A performance. “Look, Mama—we did something.” But then the cover’s bad, the e-book or audio launch is botched, and the book disappears, drowning in wrong or limited search results.

So I ask: Did some publishers in 2020 merely shift their knee slightly off the necks of Black writers—just enough to say they weren’t actively killing careers?

George Floyd didn’t deserve to die. He was a man. A father. A person with a past—but one who had a future, until it was stolen.

I use George’s first name throughout this essay because this is personal. I want you to remember how it felt. You saw the video. As a Black woman, that could have been my husband. One of my brothers, my uncles, or my beloved nephews.

I’m not going to lie—my heart still races when I see flashing blue lights. I don’t want to be Sandra Bland. Or Breonna Taylor. I have books to write, stories to tell, a family that I need to be here for. Yet, unless you sit beside me, you’ll never hear the sound I make—the soft, involuntary gasp of relief—when a patrol car passes and doesn’t pull me over.

That breath I’ve been holding finally escapes. And in that moment, I relearn how to breathe.

Books to help us process what happened and where we find ourselves:

His Name Is George Floyd by Robert Samuels & Toluse Olorunnipa is the Pulitzer Prize-winning biography that details Floyd’s life and the systemic racism that shaped it.

Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? by Beverly Daniel Tatum – Examines racial identity development and institutional bias, including in schools and publishing.

Well-Read Black Girl edited by Glory Edim – Celebrates Black women writers and the importance of being seen in literature.

Help me build momentum for Fire Sword and Sea—spread the word and preorder this disruptive narrative about female pirates in the 1600s. This sweeping saga releases January 13, 2026.

Show notes include a list of the books mentioned in this broadcast. This week, I’m highlighting The Dock Bookshop through their website and Bookshop.org

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com under the podcast link in the About tab.

If you believe like me that stories matter—tap like, share with a friend, and hit subscribe to Write of Passage.

Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you’ll come again. This is Vanessa Riley.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit vanessariley.substack.com/subscribe

Originally posted 2025-05-27 13:10:00.

My husband, a retired military man, doesn’t talk much about his service.But when he does, he’s careful—measured—about the details and the conflicts he may have witnessed.

I did get him to share a little about evacuating citizens during Hurricane Katrina.

But then (Saturday) I got a call while I was on the road in Baltimore.

A woman who had been his office mate…a navigator who became a pilot…someone he once gave a check ride to…

She had a beautiful laugh—the kind that filled a room.Always encouraging. Always steady.

She died this weekend.

She—and her crew—became casualties of a U.S. war.

I just came back from a quick dash to Baltimore.I spent time in a beautiful bookstore, wandered through a wonderful library system, and got to greet Maryland readers—people who love stories the way I do.

I brought work with me.My next novel is brewing.

But I didn’t touch it.

Instead, I let myself be wrecked by Kin by Tayari Jones.Because I needed escape.Not distraction—escape. The kind that reminds you why stories matter when the real world feels like it’s unraveling.

Right now, I’m living in a dichotomy.

On one side, there’s the book world—my world.Deadlines. Promotion. Strategy. The constant push to get our stories into as many hands as possible.

On the other side… there’s everything else.

Every time I leave my house, gas costs more. It has jumped from $2.65 to nearly $3.90.Every headline feels heavier than the last.

And now, we’re in a war I didn’t want—a war I didn’t vote for.

Let me be clear—I support the troops. Always.But that does not mean I support everything that puts them in harm’s way.

Because this isn’t abstract to me.

My husband—retired military—flew with a young pilot.She sat at the desk next to his.She is now a casualty of this war.

This isn’t policy.This is personal.

When things get heavy, I put my feelings in a box. I believe in compartmentalization.

Put your grief in one box.Your anger in another.Your ambition somewhere else.

It’s how I’ve survived rooms where I knew I wasn’t valued.Rooms where people smiled politely while quietly wishing I’d disappear.

And yes—sometimes you smile to keep from crying.Sometimes you grin and bear it because the future matters more than the discomfort of the present.

I thought I was good at that.

But this?This is harder.

When things were impossible for Jacquotte Delahaye and Sarah Sayon in Fire, Sword, and Sea, they turned to fire. The wish to burn it all down and clear away the rubbish, that they were presented.

That feeling must be universal. I am very tempted to point out to those who enabled this hellscape why they need fire. It might feel good to curse out the people who deserve it.

You’ve watched the news. I’m sure some very choice words have come to mind.

But that’s not me.

I have faith, a moral compass, a soul that won’t be damned because of enablers.

Which means I enter rooms—and exit them—with grace, poise, and dignity.I will not let anyone steal that from me.

Racism will not stumble me.Misogyny will not humble me.

And those who don’t value stories—especially stories about history, power, and women—will never shut me up.

So I will not let them win by becoming something I’m not.

Nonetheless, let’s not pretend. Let’s open the compartment where the rage is.

The world feels like it’s on fire. Self-inflicted fire.

There’s a part of me that wants to point fingers.To call out everyone who said, “both sides are the same.”Everyone who reduced complex decisions to a single issue.Everyone who believed nothing truly bad could happen.

Because now we are here.We are off the guardrails.

And maybe—just maybe—these are the consequences people needed to feel, and unfortunately, they must bear witness to the blood that has been spilled.

“Vanessa, you are being hyperbolic. No one wanted this.”

Are we sure?

Many of us have been talking about book bans and hiding history. Yet must they see an executive order force the National Park Service to dismantle the panels depicting enslavement at the President’s House on Independence Mall?

“Oh, that’s a one-off, and now the panels are back.” So a cleanup on aisle nine makes everything better?

And let’s look at the rest of the cleanup items.

People say they voted for lower gas prices.But prices in Atlanta climbed from $2.65 to $3.85.

Some say they voted for no new wars.But now we have Operation Midnight Hammer in June 2025—striking nuclear facilities in Iran.And Operation Epic Fury, launched February 28, 2026—starting a war.

And the cost?

A strike hit Shajareh Tayyebeh, a girls’ elementary school, killing at least 175 people—the majority schoolgirls between the ages of 7 and 12.

Thirteen U.S. service members are dead.At least 200 are wounded—many with traumatic brain injuries, burns, and shrapnel wounds.

A nation’s leader—Ayatollah Ali Khamenei—was killed in a precision strike,along with generals, officials, and their families—hardening resolve against the U.S. We are less safe because of this.

And for those who said they voted for a stronger economy—the numbers tell another story:

92,000 jobs were lost in February 2026.Unemployment ticked up to 4.4%.GDP growth slowed to 0.7%.

Inflation, now at 2.4%, is projected to rise toward 3 to 5%, and oil prices could surge past $110 a barrel.

I could add the occupation of ICE in several U.S. cities—American citizens being unlawfully detained and unlawfully killed.

So I ask again—what did they really vote for? Misery? The right to “own” the left? The ability to stew in misogyny and privilege? Or the foolhardy belief that the harm they saw aimed at others wouldn’t boomerang back and hurt them?

Here I thought I was good at compartmentalization. It seems the majority of voters—and those who sat out the election and ushered in this hellscape—are masters at it.

Exhale. Inhale.

I guess it doesn’t matter. We are here.

There are a lot of good books to read and escape into. Amy Barrett has a delightful one that will take us back to the safe ’90s.

Everyone should be reading and writing. Put your insides onto paper. Read and build your empathy and comprehension. Escape to a magical library. Kate Quinn has a lovely one for you.

But more than ever, everyone must create. Creating saves our souls.

I have to believe that creating matters more now than ever. Creating stories helps us remember. We need to remember how things can go horribly wrong—as well as righteously right.

When I write, my characters, rooted in history, show how to resist—how to imagine something better.

So yes, I will keep writing.

For everyone, I will compartmentalize my frustration and fears and keep showing up.

I will be here with grace.With dignity.With truth.

Even now, when it’s hard.Especially now, because it’s so needed.

To the family of Capt. Ariana G. Savino and all love ones of the military men and women killed in this war, I pray for your peace.

This week’s book list:

If I Ruled the World by Amy DuBois Barnett – A fast-paced novel set in late-1990s New York, following a Black magazine editor navigating the cutthroat worlds of fashion and hip-hop while fighting to save a struggling publication.

It’s OK That You’re Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn’t Understand by Megan Devine – A compassionate and validating guide that challenges how we think about grief, offering permission to mourn without rushing healing.

Kin by Tayari Jones – A deeply moving and intimate novel that explores family, love, and the enduring bonds that shape identity and belonging.

The Astral Library by Kate Quinn – A fantastical, immersive adventure about a hidden library where readers can step inside beloved books and live new lives.

Consider purchasing these books plus Fire Sword and Sea from Mahogany Books or from one of my partners in the fight, bookstores large and small, who are hanging with me.

Please keep spreading the word. Fire Sword and Sea is the vicarious adventure you didn’t know you needed and a guide to resistance.

You can find my notes on Substack or on my website, VanessaRiley.com, under the podcast link in the About tab.

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